


It's Supposed to be a Big Thing

by stileskolpath



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Birthday Fluff, Birthday Presents, Derek Cooks, Derek Hale Cooks, Derek Hale's Birthday, Derek Loves Stiles, Derek's Birthday, Established Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Mush, Gift Fic, M/M, Stiles Loves Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-22
Updated: 2013-11-22
Packaged: 2018-01-02 08:18:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1054567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stileskolpath/pseuds/stileskolpath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Okay, so I’m total and complete shit.”</p>
<p>Derek’s ears perked up. He rounded on himself to look at Stiles, who was standing there in the entrance to the kitchen with a small, unadorned cardboard box.</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“I’m awful,” he answered, “I’m just the worst. I don’t know how I did it, but I managed to completely forget your birthday was today.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Supposed to be a Big Thing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stilinskisparkles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stilinskisparkles/gifts).



> This is for Stilinskisparkles, whose birthday was today/yesterday (my timezones are weird, sorry). She’s perfect, awesome, and I blame her for all of my fluffy Sterek feels. Seriously, she is the best. Also, this was meant to be shorter, but that never happens with me. So have 2k words of established Sterek and birthday (un)drama. And plushie wolves, because reasons.

“Okay, so I’m total and complete shit.”

Derek’s ears perked up. He rounded on himself to look at Stiles, who was standing there in the entrance to the kitchen with a small, unadorned cardboard box.

“What?”

“I’m awful,” he answered, “I’m just the worst. I don’t know how I did it, but I managed to completely forget your birthday was today.”

Derek blinked. Truth be told, he didn’t usually remember it himself. Granted, it’d been a few years, but he was still used to the times when he didn’t really have anyone with whom to celebrate. It was only after he and Stiles got together that he was reminded of its yearly recurrence. Stiles was usually the one that reminded him. He’d wake up on that second morning of November to the smells of burnt eggs, too-crispy bacon, and coffee that was either too weak or too strong, depending on how you looked at it, and try to think of the occasion for the unusual scents, and the fact that Stiles was actually out of bed before him for a change. Then he’d remember. It was difficult keeping regular time when he’d been raised entirely in lunar cycles, but he knew it was his birthday, if for no other reason than the fact that Stiles didn’t attempt to cook any other day of the year.

There was a reason.

Derek would always pretend to be asleep when Stiles brought in the tray of overcooked food, and let him shake his shoulder lightly, because the stupid grin that Stiles would get when he saw Derek’s eyes open for the first time was probably the most perfect thing the werewolf had ever seen. Stiles would kiss his face, and say happy birthday, and would always spend at least a few minutes sitting next to Derek, asking him where he wanted to go for dinner that night, or what he wanted to do to celebrate later before heading off to work.

Derek’s answer was always the same. “You know it doesn’t matter to me, Stiles.” Then he’d take a bite of dry, mealy eggs, or carbon-black toast, and he’d like it. Because it was from Stiles. _That_ was all that mattered.

But of course he remembered this year. So when he woke up to no sounds of haphazard cooking, no smells of charred breakfast food, and no warm, slumbering body of Stiles in bed next to him, Derek was a little disappointed. But he knew Stiles had been really busy at work for the past week, dealing with several cases of a new gang vandalizing some of Beacon Hills’ more abandoned buildings. It was odd to think of the police department as having so much trouble with anything so mundane, after all the years of serial murders, angry werewolves, alphas, and that one incident with a rogue unicorn. It was understandable that he forgot, especially when Derek didn’t really make a big fuss about it each year.

But he did think about it all day. Nevertheless, Stiles’ admission did kind of surprise him a little.

“It’s fine, Stiles,” he answered, “Really. I know you’ve been busy.”

Stiles shook his head, looking down at the box in his hands. “Still, it’s no excuse. With all the years that there wasn’t anyone there to celebrate with you in the past, I have to make up for it. Not to mention-” he seemed to realize for a second what Derek was doing, standing over the stove, boiling a pot of large, flat noodles. “Wait, you’re not supposed to be cooking on your birthday!” He complained loudly.

“You forgot,” Derek replied with a shrug, repeating Stiles’ earlier point. “I thought your normal birthday rules were suspended.” Stiles quickly set down the box and tried to shove Derek out of the way.

“The rules are _never_ suspended. Now get out.” Derek didn’t even try to make a show of letting Stiles move him aside.

“I’ve already started making lasagna. So no.” Stiles stopped his incessant, but ultimately fruitless attempt to body-check Derek out of the way.

Stiles sighed as he stood up, not breaking contact with Derek as he peered at the stove around him. “Lasagna? As in my favoritest thing that you make ever…-est?”

“That’s not a word. Neither of those are, actually.” He paused to turn down the heat on the pot. “But yes.”

“So let me get this straight,” he intoned, “I forget your birthday, and you 1) don’t say anything about it all day despite probably remembering this morning when you woke up, leaving me to panic on my way home from work, and 2) start cooking _my_ favorite dinner yourself, offering me no opportunity to redeem myself for forgetting said birthday?”

Derek chuckled as he stirred the noodles. They were about done. He clicked off the heat. “Yeah, I guess so.” He lifted the pot off the burner, and moved to the sink, where he poured the contents into a strainer, and the steam wafted up over his face. “But you’ve been busy, I didn’t want to make a big thing.”

Stiles guffawed, roughing a hand through his hair as he stumbled for words. “It’s your birthday, Stupidwolf. It’s _supposed_ to be a big thing!”

Derek shrugged, as he went about laying the still piping-hot noodles over a layer of the half-prepared dish. “Stiles, it’s fine. You know it doesn’t bother me.”

“No it’s not,” he answered, sounding genuinely frustrated. “I shouldn’t have forgotten. And you should’ve bitten my head off about it.”

Derek stopped, and shot a glance back at Stiles over his shoulder. “Are you serious? You’re actually mad at me for _not_ being mad at you because of this?”

Stiles’ face did that adorable thing it always did when he got halfway into an ill-planned argument and had no way out.

“Well… Yeah, I mean- no, but… Ugh. Why do you have to be so perfectly reasonable about these things?”

Derek shrugged, and went back to laying out a second layer of noodles, meat, and cheese onto the nearly complete dish.

“Because it’s really not _that_ important. I didn’t even celebrate my birthday in the non-werewolf way…” Derek paused, trying to think back to when the first time he’d done it, “-ever, really. It wasn’t until you and I started going out that I had to do the math to figure out how old I was in human years anyway.”

Stiles sighed, finger toying with the edge of the box he’d set on the counter. “That’s not the point.” He paused. “After all the stuff that you’ve gone through, you deserve to be taken care of, at least one day. And I fucked that up.”

Derek finished the last layer, and sprinkled on the cheese and sauce he’d made earlier, before shoving the pan in the oven. He wiped his hands on the dish towel, and pulled Stiles close, wrapping his arms over his mate’s shoulders. “You didn’t fuck anything up. You _always_ take care of me. Even when you don’t think you are.”

Stiles’ cheeks flushed an adorable, ruddy red, and he dropped his eyes with a small, huffed-out laugh.

“How did you get to be so damn perfect?” He asked, threading his hands against Derek’s flanks.

Derek pretended to think. “Well, I wasn’t for a long time, until this annoying little shit-” Stiles jabbed him in the ribs. “-and his werewolf best friend tried to get me killed at every turn and wouldn’t leave me alone…”

“Not helping, Asswolf.” Stiles scoffed, glaring at him.

Derek chuckled, and pressed a gentle kiss against his lips, taking in a quick inhale of his scent as their lips slotted together, as easily as they always had. He heard Stiles’ heart skip a few beats too, just like it always did.

“So I’m inclined to ask what’s in the box, considering how you claimed to forget my birthday until your way home.”

Stiles’ flush darkened. “It’s stupid, and you probably won’t like it,” He admitted, as he unlaced himself from around Derek partially to open the lid, and pulled out a very old, stuffed wolf. “But I thought it was fitting, what with being a wolf and all. My mom gave him to me a few years before she died. He was my favorite toy, and I slept with him almost until I went to high school. He’s been in my closet since then. Actually had to stop back by the house to get him…” He trailed off. “I just figured, I had one wolf that I really loved, and now, well, I have another… or something. There was a thought process behind it, I swear.”

Derek blinked as he took the proffered stuffed animal from Stiles’ hands. He didn’t have any words.

The wolf was a small, plushie, gray-and-white thing, propped up on sitting hind legs, staring at him with beady little black eyes underneath tufted ears. Its mouth sat closed, which Derek thought was odd, most animal plushies were forever wagging a ridiculous fabric tongue or something. This one though, it almost looked dignified. It was touch-worn and the faux-hair that covered it was matted in places where a young Stiles had nuzzled at it, and a few of the less sturdy seams were beginning to rip.

But it smelled like Stiles. The scent was older, staler, almost subtle beneath a layer of mothballs, neglected lacrosse gear, and other smells that were too fused together to identify. But the familiar parts of it were of Stiles, his customary light, ephemeral aroma, but younger. Softer. Less tainted by the world around him. Derek’s heart swelled as it wafted into his nostrils.

“I- I… don’t know what to say.” He could feel his ears flush with heat at the weight of the gesture.

Stiles looked at him expectantly. “I know it’s not much, but I was hoping-”

Derek cut the rest of his sentence off as he pressed their lips together again, with more force this time, like it was the only way that he’d be able to convey even half the overflowing affection that was filling up his chest. Stiles was surprised at first, but he sank into it, pulling Derek close, pressing the re-gifted plushie between them. “So… you like it?” Stiles asked with an expectant, look.

Derek grinned as they pulled apart, his lips still ghosting with Stiles’ taste. He hugged the wolf against him and nuzzled at the head, where Stiles’ younger scent was the strongest. It elicited a stupid, blushing, ear-to-ear grin from the human.

“I love it. Was that not clear?”

Stiles’ fingers toyed with the hem of Derek’s shirt. “So does this make up for-”

“More than enough.” Derek answered, resting their foreheads together quietly. It was, really. Neither of them were much for big, romantic gestures, or symbolic, showy displays of love, but little things, like this, or the way that Stiles got mad at himself for letting the werewolf’s birthday slip his mind, these were the things that made Derek happy, that made him realize just how lucky he was that Stiles had slipped under the wire, wormed his way into his life and made a place for himself, all those years ago.

“Good,” Stiles sighed, “Now I don’t have to do what I was originally planning to make up for my transgression.” Derek looked up. Stiles waggled an eyebrow.

“And that was?” Derek already knew the answer.

“Only the dirtiest, hottest, headboard-bangiest sex you could possibly imagine,” Stiles answered in a tone that Derek guessed was supposed to be seductive.

“Enh, I’m good,” he shrugged jokingly. Stiles jabbed him in the side again, harder this time. Derek hissed.

“Whatever, it’s happening anyway. Prepare yourself.” Derek set down Stiles’ gift, and let himself be dragged off toward the bedroom. And as Stiles pulled him down onto the bed, and buried his lips against the crook of Derek’s neck, and began yanking at his clothes, Derek’s world became focused on the erratic beating of their hearts, the familiar surge of heat where their skin touched, and the rhythmic thrust of Stiles’ hips up into his own. Everything else just sort of slipped away.

It wasn’t until they were finished, and Derek was tangled around Stiles’ body, nerves still flickering with the last of his aftershocks, that he realized, through the heady scent of sex and sweat and _Stiles_ , that he’d completely forgotten about the lasagna.

“What’s burning?” Stiles asked.

This one Derek would blame him for. Okay, not really.

At least now he knew they’d would be going out for dinner like usual.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Feel free to check out [my tumblr](http://watchthewolvesrun.tumblr.com/) for more Sterek fluff, art fic, and other teen wolf related awesomeness!
> 
> Be sure to leave comments and kudos before you go!
> 
> Thanks again!  
> -SK


End file.
